Event Horizon by Steven Konkoly

Author:Steven Konkoly [Konkoly, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Military, Technothrillers, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Post-Apocalyptic, Action & Adventure, War & Military, Literary Fiction, Thrillers, Adventure, Dystopian
Amazon: B00I0DP2U2
Publisher: Stribling Media
Published: 2014-03-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

EVENT +59:38

Harvard Yard

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Ed piled out of the side door to Stoughton Hall, stopping in the middle of the red brick walkway connecting the dormitories. A bullet snapped against the building façade several feet beyond him, causing him to flinch.

“Ed!” Alex said, waving him back into the building.

Alex reached the corner of Hollis Hall and edged along the concrete foundation until he stood behind the corporal. Ed held the heavy glass door open, beckoning him to follow.

“I have to take care of something. Get everyone into one room, close the door, and don’t let anyone in until I get back!” Alex yelled.

Ed grimaced. “What the hell is going on?”

“Cambridge is falling. We can expect to leave here shortly,” said Alex.

“Ryan’s leg won’t support any weight!” said Ed.

“We’ll have to make do, unless I can secure a ride with the marines.”

Two bullets ricocheted off the red brick wall a few feet above and in front of the corporal. Alex grabbed the marine and moved him off the wall. Bullets striking a hard surface at an angle had a tendency to ricochet and continue travelling several inches along the surface.

“Get off the wall, Corporal. One-foot minimum.”

“Ooh-rah, sir! Private, stay off the walls!”

“I should be back in five minutes, Ed. Hold down the fort!”

“Where are you going?” yelled Ed.

“Out there with the good corporal.”

The marine turned his head as a few more rounds struck the side of Hollis Hall.

“Don’t get shot again,” said Ed.

“Funny.”

“Where are we going, sir?”

“To stop Private First Class O’Neil. Colonel Grady’s orders. Someone detonated Bruckman’s bomb remotely after Top and another marine brought it out of the perimeter—”

“Top’s dead?”

“Most likely. Whoever triggered the bomb had to be close enough to see them carrying the pack. Bruckman made the medevac runs with O’Neil. They could have picked up the bomb from someone along their return route.”

“Sir, I need to confirm this with the battalion commander,” said Corporal Blake.

“Do whatever you need to do. I’m headed over to the vehicles before he sabotages my only ride out of here,” said Alex, taking off across the wet brick.

Alex entered the Old Yard and made a rapid assessment of the situation. Red tracers streamed across the empty half of the common, bouncing off the rain-obscured dormitory buildings and sailing hundreds of feet in every direction. Extended staccato bursts from the northern side of the yard engaged unseen targets beyond Cambridge Street. The HESCO position directly ahead of him, partially obscured by the battalion’s MTVRs, stood silent, patiently waiting for targets to appear beyond University and Thayer Halls.

Screams rippled through the northern yard as bullets tore through the civilian tents and ruffled tarps tied between the trees. Militia gunfire directed at the marines raked the refugee camp, igniting a panicked stampede for the safety of the battalion’s inner perimeter. The corporal intending to follow him was swallowed in the pandemonium, pushed back into the gap between Stoughton and Hollis Halls. Alex was on his own.

He dashed from the cover of a thick tree trunk to the front of the closest MTVR, briefly detecting figures beyond the quiet machine-gun nest.

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